


Iceman

by dormiensa



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mycroft-centric, Post-Season/Series 03, a quiet moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is nothing if not methodical.  Some consider it masochistic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iceman

The _ping_ brought Mycroft out of his long reverie regarding the Greek government.  Checking his phone, he realized he’d not heard the first alert, reminding him of his monthly assignation.  Was it that time already?  It being June, that meant he would be meeting with Emily from Work and Pensions.  He scanned the email from Andrea and smiled.   It seemed the tea connoisseur at Claridge’s had taken his suggestions to heart and introduced two new choices to the special menu.  Mycroft idly wondered if the pastry sous-chef he’d had fired two months ago had found a new career—hopefully one that would not compromise the digestive system of unsuspecting persons in any way. 

 

Pushing the thought aside, Mycroft spent a few moments reviewing his “date” with Emily from April.  Ah yes, there’d been a hint that she might prefer a new venue for a change of scenery.  He sighed.  He texted Andrea to compile a list of potentials for August, adding that he and Emily would need to “be seen” by the gossipmongers in the civil service once the new location was decided.  Such tedium to appease the goldfish. 

 

But necessary.  He’d had this plan in place too long to needlessly compromise himself now.  Like the human rats that Sherlock monitored for anomalous behaviour, the limited social life he allowed others to see—he’d never understand the fascination—could not give rise to speculation.  Best to be in full control of its narration.

 

 _Drama queen_. 

 

Mycroft’s lips twitched.  His little brother was never very good at self-reflection.  And, sadly, his inability to appreciate routine would surely one day catch up to him.  Sherlock’s—and Mycroft’s—greatest fear had always been loss of mental acuity.  But while Mycroft paid attention to medical research and guidelines to maintain optimal mental function, Sherlock preferred erratic, “bandage” solutions.  He supposed the use of meditation or fanatic violin recitals at 3:00 a.m. to alleviate the sexual urges was consistent with his little brother’s penchant for thrill-seeking.  Mycroft smiled wryly.  And “taking himself in hand” when all else failed obviously in line with Sherlock’s addictive side.  

 

Deciding it was useless to dwell on Sherlock’s inelegant methods, he went through his usual preparatory checklist to ensure he would not forget to pack the mandatory items: the reports as proof of good health, the two types of condoms, the strawberry-scented lubricant (he wrinkled his nose—Daniel from the club preferred unscented products, thankfully), the sanitation kit, the towels.  Oh yes, the souvenir from his trip to Athens. 

 

And what of his outfit?  He supposed he should wear the new suit for tea tomorrow.  Much as he’d prefer to first model it for Daniel, Emily had the more discerning eye, besides which the fellows at the Diogenes would’ve paid as much notice if a member had shown up in neon purple silk pajamas.  It was a pity there were so few arts types at the club. 

 

In a sudden flash of inspiration, Mycroft texted Andrea to book an appointment at Johnny Van Haeften next month.  Daniel was very fond of the Dutch Masters, and Lord St. Simon had made mention that the new pieces the gallery was acquiring were exquisite.  Johnny would be a nice alternative to the National Gallery and the British Museum. And this slight adjustment might save him the need to vet a new restaurant. Mycroft _wasn’t_ anti-social; he just rarely required others to entertain him. If only the goldfish could understand that solitude did not equate with loneliness. But it was a small price to pay for the freedom of one’s own company the remainder of the time. 

 

Besides, if he really desired to bond with another, he had his brother. He browsed his phone. Perhaps, if Sherlock could be torn away from his little puzzles in the near future, the brothers could make use of the box at the Royal Albert.  Music was one of the rarities upon which they were in full accord. 

 

Mycroft sighed.  In spite all they’d recently been through with the (now resurfaced) Moriarty matter and then the Magnussen debacle, their divergence of tastes seemed intractable.  That had been most blatant regarding the Adler woman.  Mycroft shook his head.  He’d never seen her as anything but trouble—their final encounter only further cemented his aversion.  Sherlock, on the other hand… but, he supposed, for them it was the meeting of like minds.  He’d since kept close scrutiny, and it seemed his brother had truly lost interest in the woman, for there was no indication that he’d made inquiries into the fabricated witness protection scheme.  And thank goodness: Her Majesty had caught wind of the mysterious Moriarty broadcast. 

 

Andrea’s email interrupted once again.  Mycroft grinned at the list and associated links.  He had his reading material for the evening, a definite improvement to the originally scheduled reports from the Forestry Commission.   

**Author's Note:**

> Just some headcanon I've finally been able to articulate.


End file.
